Colorful Cons
by WhiteLadyDragon
Summary: A girl muses about the day she called the law on those two con artists on her street...and wonders why in spite of everything, she misses them so. Refers to the first scene of the movie.


_**Disclaimer!**_ **All fictional entities featured/ mentioned here belong to Dreamworks's production, **_**The Road To El Dorado**_**; I rented, except one character, Ida, who I made up for the purpose of this fiction. **

_**COLORFUL CONS**_

Scoundrels, miscreants, con men, alley rats…those are just a few of the thesaurus's worth of terms I can think of to describe those two, and that's without diving into the obscene. Miguel and Tulio, the degenerate duo who made their names known with their countless flashy public displays…did I forget to mention that they were show-offs?

I know the Lord said that one should love his neighbor as much as he loves himself...but I wasn't sure if it was right to call them "neighbors." They were vermin on two legs, more than anything.

I did everything in my power to steer clear of them, but it was rather hard to do since Mama and I happened to live in the alley where they often gambled with sailors. They didn't even have the decency to play at night, to cut the risk of getting caught; oh, no, they did it out in broad daylight, those damn show-offs.

For some reason, some folk found it amusing to watch Tulio as he juggled his "lucky" dice about while Miguel pranced around him like a jester and tried to build up a suspenseful mood on the strings of his lute, taking brief moments to cozy up to any women that were around (I was unlucky to have one of these encounters, and spent the rest of the day with my rosary afterwards, even if he did nothing more than brush his whiskers against my cheek).

The commotion alone was insufferable, but the crowds clotted the streets, making it almost impossible to slip in and out with groceries in my arm without having to suffocate against the wall. As far as I know, no one ever called the law on them, Christ only knows why.

And the riots they incited with the furious sailors…it practically sounded like the royal army was brawling outside my door! Poor Mama couldn't sleep for three nights after one particular episode.

No matter what they did, where they went, trouble was their loyal companion, following them around like a mongrel begging for scraps. I finally decided to put my foot down when I saw their faces on a poster in the market square, one day. A reward of one hundred doubloons had been offered for their capture.

A tiny smile crept over my face. Mama and I could surely use the money, and I would rid our street of those alley rats once and for all! I wasted no time in confiding with a guard about their current whereabouts: back on my street, ripping molehills of gold off of the sailors.

Our timing couldn't be better; the crowds had just discovered their dice to be loaded—my suspicions confirmed—but instead of being mature about it and accepting their fates, they went and turned on _each other_. In front of the guard, Tulio accused Miguel of "giving" him loaded dice, trying to sound innocent and in my opinion, doing horribly at it.

"You _dare _to impugn my honor?" his partner shot back, shoving him aside. "_He _was the one who was cheating! Arrest _him!_" Please, even if he didn't do the scamming, how can one have an spoonful of honor in him when he's cheering on his scamming partner?

"Oh, now _I'm _the thief? Take a look in the mirror, pal!" barked Tulio, shoving Miguel towards the guard's breastplate.

Then things got so pathetic, it evoked a ghost of a smirk to my lips: Miguel tried to play the role of the noble hero, while helping himself to the sword hung from the guard's belt. "You better give that money or I'll…_en garde!_"

Tulio did the same, "borrowing" the sword from a nearby nobleman. Before long, steel clanged with steel, engaged in one of the most pretentious swordfights I'd ever seen, complete with petty insults on each other's performance, pompous vocabulary that sounded alien coming from two men who I'm sure had never been to school for a day in their lives, and leaping on top of tables. No one, not even the guard, stepped in to break it up as they climbed on a pile of crates and finished off their duel on top of a roof.

Damn show…oh, now I'm just repeating myself. I'm sure you see what I mean, by now, anyway.

In the end, Tulio lost his footing by the gutter, giving Miguel the perfect opportunity to disarm his opponent and point the blade at the center of his forehead. But all of those threats of "cutting him to ribbon" turned out to be full of steam, like pretty much anything I'd ever heard either of them say.

As the crowds booed them to get down, they tossed both swords between the guard's feet and bowed, like they'd just put on a spectacular show.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have decided it's a draw!" declared Tulio.

"Thank you all for coming, you've all been great, see you soon," cheered Miguel, tossing his yellow hair as he waved the people good-bye.

With a flick of his ink-black ponytail and a sly grin, Tulio gave the final word: _"Adios!"_

They tumbled backwards off the roof, the last that I ever saw of them again.

It's been little more than three months, maybe four, since they disappeared. No one comes here to the alley to gamble, anymore, so it's been much quieter, more peaceful…

…a little _too _peaceful.

Don't get me wrong, I felt as light as silk to have peace restored to my street. That's what I'd wanted, after all. But after a while…I can't explain why, but it just became like it felt too peaceful, if that's possible.

Sometimes I look out on the balcony when I'm not doing chores to watch the people tread by on personal errands, most sparing not even a passing glance towards each other. The afternoon sun dips into the rooftops, its warmth baking my arms and my hair, and I think about that glint in Tulio's eyes and his victory chants with Miguel. Sometimes I find myself straining to listen for the jangle of cash, and often, warm, zealous fingers plucking the strings of a lute. When I hear nothing, I feel hollow.

Suddenly, this street looks dreary and grey, despite the ruddy roofs and the bright, young flowers on the sills.

I don't understand. I didn't even know those con artists, or like them, for that matter. I called the law on them, for Christ's sake!

So, why does it feel like I _miss _them?

Stranger still, why do I feel like a con, myself? My mind drifts back to those hundred doubloons, the bounty on their heads, and a tiny voice in my head hisses at me: _Ida, you didn't like them and their conning, money-grabbing ways. Why did you sell _them _out? _

And every time I hear that voice, I rationalize it seven ways 'til Mass: _what I did was different. They were cons! _Somebody_ had to stop them! The reward was just a bonus. I did nothing wrong!_

No matter what I tell myself, no matter how hard I rub my rosary, the weight doesn't feel much lighter.

Despite myself, I find myself wondering what those two are up to. Did the guards catch them? Did they escape? Are they dead? Where are they?

If they really are in prison, I see them laughing, gambling with their mates in an otherwise desolate yard, getting out of doing their share of labor. If they escaped, I think about all the places they might be: another city, maybe even another country, where no one is yet wise to all the tricks up their sleeves. Why, they were so slippery that I wouldn't be surprised if they left this World, altogether.

And if they are dead, I see them shooting dice with the Devil. Not that you could win against the Devil, but they seemed bold and show-offish enough to do that, if they could clash swords out on the public square in plain view of a guard. I see the flames of Hell fueling that glint in Tulio's coal eyes, while Miguel still livens the place—if that's possible—with his music, dancing out of gaiety and out of keeping his feet from welding to the scorching under-ground.

Wherever those two cons are, I'm sure trouble's still following them, alongside the other companion I never realized they had until they left and took it with them forever.

Color.

_**FIN**_


End file.
